


Behind The Eight Ball

by lil_1337



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-05-28
Updated: 2007-05-28
Packaged: 2017-11-06 22:52:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/424136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lil_1337/pseuds/lil_1337
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the <a href="http://gw500.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://gw500.livejournal.com/"><b>gw500</b></a> prompt games people play.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Behind The Eight Ball

"Three ball, in the corner pocket." Trowa used the tip of his cue to point to the pocket in question, clarifying which corner. He bent low, taking his time to line up the shot before easing the stick forward to send the ball rolling leisurely over the green felt. It tapped the three ball, propelling it forward to balance precariously on the edge before falling, almost in slow motion, into the designated pocket.

Standing up, he reached for his beer and took a slow sip surveying the bar around him. The place was dingy if you were being kind, a dive if you were not. The few customers at this time of the day sat at opposite ends of the counter, not there to socialize, but to get a jumpstart on the daily mission of reaching alcohol soaked oblivion as quickly and cheaply as possible.

He set down the beer and circled the table, studying his next shot from all different angles as he scanned the place, noting the exits, the windows and where the burly man behind the bar might have his shotgun hidden. There was no question if it existed despite the local gun laws, merely a matter of location. Once more around the table and Trowa verified the identity of the man he was looking for; a roughneck known for his connections to off world smugglers. Just the people he was looking to make contact with.

"Eight ball, side pocket." Speaking the code clearly Trowa tapped the end of his stick next to the chosen pocket and sighted out his shot. Pulling his arm back sharply, he sent the cue ball flying on a collision course for the final ball on the table. There was a crack as they met and then several muffled thuds as the black ball ricocheted once and then a second time before disappearing into the pocket with a solid sounding thump.

Nodding his head in grim satisfaction, Trowa set the cue down and retrieved his beer. Finishing it off he gestured to the bartender for another, moving around the end of the table to trade credits for the reasonably cold bottle. When he turned back, the man from the far of the bar stood beside the table, rack in hand.

"Game, Mister?" He waved the triangular piece of plastic in Trowa's direction even as the change that was lined up above the coin slots was being deposited.

"Sure." Trowa shrugged, appearing nonchalant that the previously anti social patron had suddenly had a change of character.

The man racked the balls then lined them up at the end of the table opposite Trowa. "Your break."

Setting the cue ball off to the side, Trowa lined up his shot, noticing that Heero had entered the bar, the butt of his gun just barely visible in pocket of his jacket. Nodding almost imperceptibly, Trowa sent the larger ball slamming into the neatly arranged triangle, pleased that stage two of the game was about to begin.


End file.
